As I indicated last time, Cole's newest obsession is football. He's shown no inclination toward the sport until the last few weeks. (He learned the sport at recess and of course, his Dad has camped on to his new interest by teaching how to throw and catch the pigskin, or in our case a black-webbed football.) While Doug's excited about Cole's new interest, I'm not as thrilled. Sure, he's only seven and has a few years before he plays competitively, but I can't help but worry. He's not the biggest kid in the world. But he's like a dog, not knowing his own size, and often shows a bit more physical courage than he should.
He once told a friend of mine (who happens to have four boys of her own)that he doesn't like to show me or tell me about his biking stunts. "It just makes her worry." Keeping that in mind, the kid will never drive a car without his mom or dad as passenger. I doubt his dates or friends will mind. We're pretty fun people.
Anyway, while I've spent much of my daughter's life worrying about her emotional health (we're currently experimenting with an anti-inflammatory diet to keep the mood swings in check), I've spent most of my son's life worrying about his physical safety. In a way it balances me out! But some days I wonder, "Do I really have the heart to be a mother of these two lovable children?"
Of course I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't be worrying.
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